


A Beginning (or, How Harry's Healed Broken Nose Got Him Draco Malfoy)

by AngeNoir



Series: Gifts for Tumblr Users [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU - Epilogue, Belated birthday fic, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Harry have been friends after the war, and while Draco would like for it to become something more, he doesn't want to ruin what he has with Harry. Harry's reasons for not making a move are... a little different.</p>
<p>Unabashed fluff for a friend's birthday!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beginning (or, How Harry's Healed Broken Nose Got Him Draco Malfoy)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a ficlet. This was also supposed to be straight fluff, no sexual interactions. I failed at both. So. Sex. And 3k+ words. I hope you enjoy, [JustJossingYou](http://justjossingyou.tumblr.com)!

“Master Harry Potter is in the west gardens.”

Draco paused, quill hovering over the correspondence. Harry wasn’t supposed to be back this early in the day – though Draco had (quite seriously, though Harry had laughed) offered to support them both, Harry had wanted to have a job. He’d become an Auror, completing his seventh year under tutors and sitting for his NEWTs so that he wouldn’t be treated any differently than other applicants to the program.

Draco could have told Harry that he’d never be looked at like any other applicant (okay, he did, but he didn’t press it as much as he could have) but Harry was already putting up with a lot for his choice to see Draco in a friendly manner after the war ended. The Wizengamot had stripped most of the Death Eater families of everything but their physical homes, and Draco’s mother and father were never accepted into polite company. Come to think of it, neither was Draco, not really, but he had never let the concerns of lesser wizards bother him as a youth. He may have had to keep his strut down to a minimum, and had to lick more than a few boots, but Malfoy money always had come from businesses, from investing and supporting wizarding companies and expeditions. Harry had trusted Draco first, and after the Malfoy trial had invited Draco to a restaurant to eat in public and show the rest of the wizarding world that the Man Who Twice Lived approved of the Malfoy family.

(Harry wouldn’t admit to recognizing the political benefits, continued to claim that he just wanted to treat Draco to lunch in a new restaurant, but not even Harry could be that oblivious to the weight of his name and his approval.)

In any case. What had started as a friendship turned into a deep enough friendship that when Ginny ended her relationship with Harry – they parted on amicable enough terms, though Draco knew that the break hurt Harry far more than Ginny, what with Ginny taking custody of the children and Harry only getting to see them every other weekend – Draco could comfort Harry without anyone suspecting that Draco’s feelings ran deeper than they appeared outwardly. Granger and Weasley (now both Weasley, but there were enough Weasleys in the world that any way for Draco to distinguish Hermione from her husband without actually using her first name and letting her know he liked her as a person was preferable) were busy with their own growing family, what with Granger’s work in the Ministry and Weasley’s work in the joke shop with his brother. So no one batted an eye when Harry started spending more time with Draco, when Draco would offer to take Harry on expeditions to harvest rare potions ingredients, when Draco offered to set Harry up in his house until Harry had found a flat of his own (since he’d given up the home to Ginny, the great git).

And as much as Draco had wanted to make a move, wanted to declare his intentions to Harry, he also knew that much of the Malfoy’s salvaged dignity came from Harry’s public approval. Beyond that (and, Draco would admit in the dark of the night to himself when no one was around at all) Draco didn’t want to lose one of his very few friends. So he waited, and let Harry stay over when the flat seemed too empty. Harry normally came over to share a tumbler or two of firewhiskey and sometimes they played wizard’s chess, sometimes they went out to eat, and sometimes they stayed in, sitting in Draco’s library, reading silently and taking comfort from the other’s presence.

But Harry was home – or, well, not home, but _over_ – in the middle of the day, and that couldn’t be good. Draco wasn’t certain what could be the problem, but he put down his quill, spelled the correspondence to stay on the desk and not get smudged, lost, or otherwise damaged, and made his way to the west gardens.

It was a veritable jungle there, of course – the west gardens had been allowed to run wild, as Draco’s mother had expressly forbidden pruning of any type to take place. It was the first garden Draco had shown to Harry when trying to give Harry good memories about the Malfoy Manor than the ones that still had _Draco_ startling awake in the night, pale and dripping sweat.

And it didn’t take long for Draco to locate Harry. Harry had always been partial to the huge, almost oversized tiger lilies that actually roared in tiny little voices and curled under your hand like a cat begging to be petted. For a moment, Draco just stood there, watching Harry pet and stroke the flowers. Harry was still dressed in his Auror uniform, robes tight fitting around waist and chest but loose around legs and arms, to allow freedom of movement. If there was one thing Draco greatly liked about Harry’s Auror position, it was the cut of those robes that accentuated Harry’s chest, ass, and hips. Draco could never feel _grungy_ – he was Draco Malfoy, after all – but Harry was broad where Draco was slim, muscled where Draco was lean, and Draco always fantasized what it would be like to have that stubble skate across Draco’s abdomen or inner thighs…

Clearing his throat to announce his presence and stop his line of thinking, he took a few steps forward down the path. Harry’s head came up, emotions wiping away to show nothing but pleasure at seeing Draco standing there. “Draco!” he said, giving one final pat to the flower still twining around his fingers before standing up and dusting off his robes. “You’re home? I thought you said that you were visiting your parents in France today.”

“They changed their minds,” Draco murmured, a bit distracted because he was still trying to categorize the quick flash of emotions that had run over Harry’s face before draining away. “Mother wasn’t home and father’s never quite comfortable around me anymore.”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly, ducking his head. Harry always encouraged Draco to put his relationship with his parents aright (they had moved to France, begged Draco to come with them, and then been furious that he’d refused to marry the girl they’d picked out for him) and while Draco could understand what parents and family meant to Harry, he wasn’t going to bend over backwards for his parents when they continued to live in the past and ignore their mistakes. “Sorry that it didn’t go well.”

Draco shook his head a little, waving it off. “No, don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault. Why are you home so early? You said specifically that you might go out drinking with your squad after work.”

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck, looking sheepish – which instantly put Draco on alert, because a Harry acting like he was at sheepish or uncertain was normally a Harry that was dead certain about something and just wanted to hide it. “Ah, some of the guys got to talking and I just – it moved past friendly ribbing.”

For a long moment, Draco stared at Harry, and then he calmly took out his wand and whispered a spell.

“Draco—” Harry protested, but his nose glowed blue for a moment, as did his left ribs and his left knee.

“You got into a row, Harry?” Draco asked. “Got your nose broken? Fell, perhaps, too hard on your left side?”

Grumpy, now, Harry folded his arms. “The medi-wizard fixed it all up.”

“What was the row over? Did you get sent home like naughty schoolchildren?” Draco couldn’t resist teasing as he turned to walk back to the house, Harry falling in step beside him. Harry tried to act very serious and mature, but they were both twenty-five year old males with a propensity for competition and risk-taking. Draco loved teasing and taunting Harry until he dropped the mature person and acted more his age.

Harry let out a sigh. “Just – it was teasing, and then it went too far, and then he implied – not nice things.”

Draco had been willing to let it go; after all, while it was out of character for Harry to get into a physical fight with anyone, as he normally held his temper much better than most, the fact that Harry had used the term ‘not nice things’…

In the beginning stages of their friendship, people had accused Draco of toadying, of bribing Harry into being his friend, and Harry had not only continuously done interviews to the opposite (and he _hated_ interviews) but had gotten into very loud shouting matches with both his friends and his critics over his interaction with Draco. Draco had assumed most of the lingering prejudice had died down, but if Harry was still getting into fights over ‘not nice things’ being said…

Harry seemed to catch the direction his thoughts had been going and quickly shook his head, putting an imploring hand on Draco’s elbow and tugging Draco to face him. “No, Draco, it wasn’t – it’s not your fault, it’s mine entirely, I just – didn’t like him implying I’d do something like – that.”

“Like what?” Draco asked, mind furiously trying to pick apart Harry’s words because – really – what _could_ this coworker have said that would so affect Harry? The only thing that anyone ever criticized Harry on now _was_ his continued association with Malfoy and his refusal to ‘do something more with his life’ than join the Aurors – as if Harry still owed them anything at all.

For a moment, Draco realized just how close they were, and his pulse jumped in his throat. Harry appeared to realize it too – and he dropped Draco’s elbow, cheeks flushing red. Something sour coated the back of Draco’s throat as he realized what could have been ‘implied’ that Harry took offense to.

“Well,” he said caustically, turning away from Harry and stalking back towards the mansion, “I suppose sleeping with me _is_ the worst thing that could happen.”

There was no noise at all behind him and he had almost made it out of the gardens and towards the door when Harry’s hand grabbed at his elbow again and whirled him around.

“Hold up – what the hell? How did – that wasn’t even remotely – okay, it was a little, but really, how did your mind jump there? I mean – what the _hell_?”

Harry looked so shocked, so shaken, that Draco’s stomach turned uncomfortably. “Come now, Potter,” he sneered, calling up the superior attitude that he normally only used with people who annoyed him. “I could hardly ignore the gossip rags that talk about how I am keeping you by my side by turning into your catamite. I’d hoped our friendship was based on something more than that. Still, if you’re so offended that people would think you would actually deign to sleep to me—”

Harry yanked at Draco’s arm and suddenly there was a press of chapped lips against Draco’s smooth ones, rough stubble against Draco’s smooth chin, the hint of spice and fire and corned beef (really, Harry ought to stop eating those sandwiches, they were _revolting_ ) – and then Draco was shoved back again and Harry’s face went from beet red to ghost pale to sickly green.

Completely upset by the turn of events, Draco just stood there and gaped.

“I’m sorry!” Harry said abruptly, fingers nervously twisting in the hem of his robe’s sleeves. “I’m so – I’m, well, no, I’m not – I really am! I shouldn’t have – it’s not mandatory! It’s not a requirement! He’s wrong, and I’m sorry I gave you that impression, but it’s not – I wouldn’t deign to sleep with you, I’d be honored—” his face rapidly turned beet red again and the flush spread down his neck, making Draco wonder how far down it went “—I mean, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to force – I’ll go, now, I’m sorry, I interrupted you, and I made you upset—”

Draco took a step forward and placed his hands on either side of Harry’s head, cupping Harry’s jaw gently and rubbing his thumb over Harry’s mottled flush. Harry stilled beneath his hands, eyes wide and pupils dilated. When Harry’s inane babbling stopped, Draco leaned forward.

“You want to sleep with me. Yes?”

Slowly, Harry nodded.

“You have no objections to sleeping with me. Yes?”

Harry’s skin went white again, and he nodded much slower this time.

Draco considered carefully, because if Harry hadn’t babbled, he wouldn’t have understood any of it, but there was definite regret in Harry’s voice. Was he just trying to prove a point? No, as much as Harry did things he didn’t like for people he loved, he wouldn’t do this; he’d been burned once with Ginny, after all. What would explain the fight, explain the hasty kiss when Draco came to the (apparently wrong) conclusion that Harry hated people insinuating he wanted to sleep with Draco, the torrent of words that made no sense without context that Draco didn’t have?

“You… have wanted to sleep with me for a while. And your squad knows?”

Harry swallowed convulsively and he dropped his eyes. But he nodded.

“Then I don’t see what the problem is. I don’t understand – any of this. Why you’re here early, why you haven’t made a move yet – Merlin’s balls, why you don’t even stay the night half the time, and when you do it’s on the couch!” Draco shook Harry gently and forced Harry to look him in the face again. “I’ve been working off the assumption that you’re straight, Harry, and that you were still trying to get over Ginny, and that you didn’t want a relationship. I know why _I_ haven’t made a move. Why haven’t you?”

Three times Harry opened his mouth to answer and each time he closed it again. Finally, he croaked, “I didn’t want to make you feel like – you owed it to me.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow, confused. “I… owed it to you?”

“I…” Harry flushed again, and dropped his eyes. “I know that – that you pointed out my approval… carries weight. And I didn’t – I didn’t _ever_ want you to think that… that if you didn’t sleep with me we couldn’t… I’d leave.”

For a very long moment, Draco just stared, with Harry fidgeting more and more. Then he let go with one hand and slapped Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s eyes flew open wide and he stared at Draco in shock.

“You, Harry James Potter, are a right git. Your head is so far up your arse that I bet you inhale shit every time you open your mouth to speak. What in Merlin’s hairy balls made you think that if I didn’t want to sleep with you, I’d keep quiet about it? What in _any_ of my mannerisms or character that you’ve witnessed in the past few months made you think I’d roll over and present my arse to you if I didn’t want to?! I’m considering making you grovel for the next _decade_ for that because if you can’t trust me to know my own mind than hell, Potter, what are you even doing here in the first place?!” Draco demanded heatedly, shaking Harry’s shoulders almost viciously.

Harry blinked at him a moment in surprise. “You – want to sleep with me?”

Throwing his hands up in the air, Draco spun on his heel and stalked back to the house. “You, Potter,” he snarled over his shoulder, “are a colossal idiot and—”

Harry’s fingers caught in the material of Draco’s sleeve, tugging gently, and when Draco turned around – standing in the doorway, because he was going to storm back up to his study and sulk that Harry thought so _little_ of him that he thought Draco would just let Harry into his bed because Harry supported Draco – Harry leaned closely and brushed his lips against the corner of Draco’s mouth.

“I was – kinda hoping, actually, that if it – if it came to it – I’d be the one presenting my arse to – to you,” Harry whispered, and Draco could _feel_ the heat of Harry’s blush, it was so strong.

And the image Harry painted made Draco instantly hard.

Still, Draco had a reputation to maintain, and he pulled his head back indignantly, trying to keep his facial features stern (with little success, he knew, but still, making an effort) as he said severely, “I’m still pissed at you, Harry. If I can ignore the gossip that I’m nothing but a whore keeping you on my side by letting you sample this body, then you can ignore the gossip that says you’re taking advantage of my neediness to get sexual favors. And I have to ask – when have I _ever_ been needy?!”

Harry stared at Draco a moment before a mischievous grin spread over his face. “Well, then,” he murmured, and sank to his knees _in the doorway_ , leaning forward to nuzzle at Draco’s crotch, “I’ll trust you’ll tell me if you don’t want this, then?”

“Sex doesn’t solve anything, Potter, merely puts off – oh Morgana,” Draco whimpered as Harry mouthed at the outside of his trousers.

“Maybe not. But sex is a good apology, sometimes. And I think I should be apologizing. Groveling. Crawling at your feet,” Harry said, and his voice got hoarser and deeper and really, who could expect to hold out against those green eyes and that whiskey-rough voice?

Draco, after all, never deemed himself someone with good impulse control.

After a moment, Draco licked his lips and leaned back against the frame, folding his arms and cocking an eyebrow challengingly. “Well, then, you better start apologizing. Impress me.”

Harry’s eyes flared with competition and he was hastily undoing the buttons on Draco’s trousers – after all, when Draco lounged around the house, he dressed in trousers and a shirt, not formal robes – and breathed hotly over the silk of Draco’s boxers. With a slight hum, Draco tilted his head up and tried to breathe normally.

Which was pretty much impossible when Harry slid his boxers down, hefted Draco’s erection, and swallowed around more than half of Draco’s cock.

Gasping, Draco reflexively looked down, and that probably hadn’t been a smart thing to do because looking at Harry, with hollowed cheeks, a wicked smile, and laughing eyes – pretty much the starring feature in many of Draco’s wet dreams – made Draco breathe out unsteadily and unfold his arms to brace himself against the wall. Harry had obviously never done this before, teeth sometimes bumping against the sensitive skin of Draco’s cock, being unable to judge a tempo to breathe and swallow at the same time, awkward fumbling with his hands and eventually just bracing himself against Draco’s thighs – but it didn’t matter.

Harry Potter was sucking Draco Malfoy’s cock.

Draco came embarrassingly quickly.

Eyes half-lidded, limp and leaning against the wall, knees weak, Draco watched as Harry stood up, licking at the come that had dribbled onto his hand and lower lip and wondering what he’d done to get so lucky. Not that it mattered; now that he had Harry, he wasn’t letting go.

“Was it – okay?” Harry asked, and there was uncertainty again, but also a level of smugness because Draco was _obviously_ blissed out, and Harry could see that, the prat.

Draco grabbed Harry’s neck and dragged his lips to Draco’s own, tasting his own come on Harry’s breath and kissing him deep and filthy. When Draco let go, Harry pulled back, eyes black and chest heaving.

“Carry me up to my bed,” Draco ordered, the firm tone weakened by the fact that he was gripping onto Harry’s shoulders to stay upright, “and let’s see about me returning the favor.”

Harry laughed and hefted Draco up, letting Draco wrap his legs around Harry’s waist, and they made their way inside Malfoy Manor.


End file.
